


The Last Day of Their Gotham

by Silversonne



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Injustice: Gods Among Us
Genre: Anal Sex, Canonical Character Death, M/M, Missing Scene, Nervousness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-12
Updated: 2020-06-12
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:54:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24688708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Silversonne/pseuds/Silversonne
Summary: Joker has messed up for real, his last joke is beyond good and evil, and it seems, he himself doesn’t understand, how it happened. When has the joke stopped being Jokerish? Batman has only one question for him. And lots of emotions. But does Joker have an answer? And what will ensue, if the best detective in the world breaks down?
Relationships: Batman/Joker, Joker (DCU)/Bruce Wayne
Comments: 6
Kudos: 43





	The Last Day of Their Gotham

**Author's Note:**

> Author just couldn’t ignore this heart-piercing scene in the interrogation room (Issue #4), because these guys suppress so many feelings towards each other, that this situation is fraught with complete loss of control.
> 
> A page from the comics to remind you, how these wonderful guys look in our story - https://2.bp.blogspot.com/oTfw3CDcNornxMFLSDYPrM8PRF2iL9r4XgJjI4xW5neStJk7CXrn39VH-OvUtqhnTqjTGPqlbGg7=s0
> 
> I want to thank the translator for this amazing job :)))

Usually he never stopped before entering the interrogation room. Especially when it held Joker. But Joker himself usually didn’t do anything like that. Batman closed his eyes, took a breath through his nose, and listened to himself – he was completely calm inside. It was a dangerous, eerie calm, and disgusting chill went down his spine. Batman clenched his fists, not even thinking of what he would say to the forever grinning bastard. He would just do something that must have been done a long time ago, perhaps, five years ago – he would stop the Gotham’s plague, which spread over to Metropolis and the whole world, once and for all. Black-clad fingers touched the coded lock…

_He could have had a godson or a goddaughter…_

…punched the first four digits out of eighteen…

_He could have had a happy friend…_

…four more, stilled in the air, and punched one more digit…

_He could have had confidence in his own thoughts, feelings…_

…three digits…

_He could have had tomorrow to arrest Harley for deadly chases on the streets of Gotham…_

…one digit…

_Gordon, a lone wolf, waiting for him on a roof… a former recruit of Metropolis’ police academy…_

…two digits…

_Alfred, bringing porridge and newspapers with a marker in the crimes section in the morning, always aware of all that’s happening not only in Gotham but also beyond it…_

…two digits…

_He could have had an old familiar dear sworn enemy, who was always one step ahead in his many-moved games; it took a lot of efforts to outwit him… And this situation could have lasted up to the horizon, or even further, out of the bounds of the events…_

…one digit… The forefinger stilled above the button, which would illuminate green, allowing the access, when he…

_He could have had the world with existing Metropolis and… alive Lois and her baby…_

The green light came on, the door opened noiselessly.

_He could have had himself with the knowledge of what to say._

***

First of all Batman shut down all the cameras in the room. It was all about the two of them, just like his intentions. Barrel of a gun indifferently pointed at the man, hunched at the table.

Joker didn’t raise his head and looked at him askance from under bright green eyebrows. Steady, mulishly, and mirthlessly.

The hand, holding the gun, dropped down on its own accord. Batman couldn’t shoot an unarmed man. He couldn’t shoot a prisoner. A madman. He couldn’t kill Joker. He fought against Joker so many times, saved his damn ass so many times, he just could’t do it. Only one thought throbbed in his head, making all the others lurk in its shadow in fear.

“Why?”

“Why what?” Joker shrugged wearily, without emotions, without any hint of mockery and triumph.

“It was all about the two of us, always. Why did you do that to him?”

Batman didn’t notice, how he tossed the gun aside, grabbed Joker by the lapels, lifting him from the chair, and started shouting in his rigid face. Joker didn’t even try to fight back. Or to laugh it off. This whole bullshit about “lower complexity”, “easy”, “puppies and kittens”, and “who do you think Superman will become” sounded so unconvincing, that even Joker himself didn’t believe it.

Haunted disconcerted blue eyes looked at Batman. Perhaps, it would be better, if Joker made another joke about Flash and riding him. Or about Harley and her idiotic knack for giving names to everything, including a submarine.

He knew that Lois was pregnant, but did it anyway. Why?

The answer was right in front of Batman. But Joker seemed to shrink; already slim enough, now he seemed unnaturally thin and crooked as a branch, bent by the wind, which Batman vowed to break for good just a minute ago. But the answer didn’t hold the much-needed information. Joker didn’t know. He looked disoriented. The joke went too far. The clown missed the turn, didn’t put on the brakes, crossed the finish line and the horizon line of his own plans. And now he gave an excuse of lower complexity. Lunacy.

“It was all about the two of us, always. It would have been my… it was the child of my…” Batman couldn’t finish.

These goddamned blue eyes shone with confusion, uncertainty and something else… Was it possible that Joker understood, what Batman tried to tell but couldn’t finish saying? Was it possible that Joker comprehended, that Batman could have a friend, someone that Joker hadn’t had and would never have?!

Their faces were so close, their breaths intermingled, and Batman sensed his sworn enemy everywhere: in every corner of this small room with only one table and two chairs in the center, in the air, in the smell of sweat emanating from him and from Joker. And he didn’t like what he saw in front of him; the sight was too odd and seemingly unreal, it would be better if it were unreal. For it seemed that while reciting the plan, Joker understood that something was wrong with it, and Batman saw it. Something alien, un-Jokerish, ugly and unfunny was lodged in the heart of the plan, and Joker shuddered as though chilled, stopped, catching his breath and afraid to finish.

Batman didn’t let him finish.

“What should I have done for you to stay away from him? You are a lunatic, batshit crazy lunatic! Tell me, what I should have done for you to keep your filthy hands away from everyone but me? For you to keep your fucking fantasies in check…”

Batman broke down. For the first time in the history of their fights. The best detective in the world broke down. As though they exchanged places: Batman spoke, and Joker was silent. Silent and listening.

“You can do anything you want to me! Do you hear me? To me. Not him. Not anyone else. To me! In Gotham. I am your enemy, not he. Only I in this whole world, you fucking bastard!

Joker was unbearably silent for an eternity, and then he made his move, which Batman didn’t expect and couldn’t determine the cause, whether it happened as affected by despair and vague remorse, or due to emotions tearing Joker to pieces.

The clown, who messed up to the max, flung himself at Batman and painfully kissed his lips.

The kiss was almost biting, sinking in as a knife in a wound, sharp, awkward, restraining, and holding no hope for reconciliation. Batman tried to tear the crazed freak off, but unexpectedly strong hands kept holding him in a death grip even in handcuffs.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Batman growled, finally breaking away from Joker’s grip, and punched him in the guts.

Joker doubled over and started coughing, but remained speechless, damn him.

“Are you out of your fucking mind?”

“Bats…”

“You’ve destroyed a city, killed two people…”

“Bats…”

“…dear…”

“Bats…”

“…to my…”

“I didn’t intend to. I contemplated, I planned, but… I don’t know… I don’t know why the hell I did it. I really don’t know…”

He was almost weeping, kneeling in front of Batman, holding onto his cape as onto a broken and useless lifesaver, trying to recover from the blow. Batman jerked him up and met… blank, confused stare. From the first moment of their meeting, he had this look. A man, whom Batman had never seen, looked at him from the depth of Joker. Batman didn’t know him. And this man was desperately kissing him again. What a damned fucking unending day!

“Please, do this to me… just do it,” Joker whispered frantically. “I can’t stand it anymore, please… I can’t think about it anymore. Do it, Bats! You do realize, I don’t have an answer…”

His lips touched Batman’s face, brushed against the mask without shying away from it as in the old days, when Joker flinched from Batman’s touch after each fight, anxious, when Batman grabbed him by the neck and lifted, trying to shake him up and shake tricky plans for future crimes out of him too. He didn’t shout in frenzy, “Take your filthy hands away from me!”

On the contrary, his hands roamed Batman’s chest, waist, hips, looking for the clasps.

He whined, and growled, when he understood that he was powerless against the most perfect black armor in the world, and dropped only one quiet word, “Damn.”

Alfred always told Batman to think before doing something. And then think twice. But it was not the case. It was impossible to think. Because it was dangerous to delve into his own despicable feelings. Why couldn’t he kill Joker? Why couldn’t he let Joker die? Why did he save him even when Gordon begged him to just stay away and let Joker die as a result of a dumb stunt? Why, after beating him within an inch of his life and sending to Arkham, did he heave a sigh of relief when he heard rumors in Gotham that Joker recovered in the asylum? Why did he trust these blue eyes now? It were not the words, not the dirty lips, stained with color and lies he trusted, but the eyes full of hopelessness and inhuman, sick, crazy pain. And the only way to stop thinking was to tear the clown away and leave, and let other heroes from the Justice League sort things out with Joker.

He threw Joker away to the table. He staggered and barely managed to stay upright on faltering legs. Joker looked like a hunted animal, caught in a snare that he set up himself; he barely breathed, most certainly thinking that Batman would turn around and leave. Forever. And Batman turned around… to shut the inspection window, though there was no one on the other side. Then he jerked the belt armor, unclasping one mechanism after another, the armor fell to the floor with a thud, followed by heavy arm protectors with protruding sheathes, massive as shark fins. Batman stepped over his gear, advancing on Joker like a tsunami, drawing nearer at the speed of inhales and exhales. He pushed hidden protective structures aside, unzipping the black fly, as Joker looked at that place entranced, unable to look away — at tight bulge straining under the black-blue dense fabric.

Joker raised his head, and licked his dry lips; his eyes glazed over, his trembling hands helped Batman’s hands to pull his hot hardening cock from the confines of the batsuit. The handcuffs didn’t add to the comfort, but Batman didn’t even think about removing them.

Lungs burned, and Batman tried to draw a breath, but it seemed as though oxygen was shut off. As though someone stole air from the room, which turned narrow in a heartbeat, leaving unbearable stuffy heat, which made it impossible to feel alive.

To feel something, Batman clutched Joker’s head in his palms, and kissed him, inflicting pain, leaving bruises around his painted mouth, on the chin, under the nose.

“You are a damned abomination,” he rasped into crimson lips, trembling with pain and arousal. “When will you die already?”

“You can kill me… after this… afterwards…” Joker stammered. “Not now… Fuck, Bats…”

Firstly Batman untied the dark-red bow, and threw it aside. Then it was the turn of the buttons, he undid them one by one, not allowing Joker to help, trapping his hands with elbows, not allowing to reach, to move.

“You will have to remove the handcuffs, if you want to undress me…”

“No, I won’t.”

“Are you going to… ahh…”

Batman nearly collided with his nose, pressing face to face, so it was impossible to breathe again, impossible to utter a word.

Strong long fingers finished undoing buttons on the carroty shirt, then it was the turn of the fly. Batman pulled off perfectly fitting Joker's trousers with a jerk, his eyes lingered on the briefs with funny bats’ pattern, but he didn’t even smile, just pulled it off, and chucked aside.

Joker yelped quietly, when Batman put him on the table in one movement, and then lay down on him.

Joker didn’t know where to put his hands. Suffocating from arousal and weight, crushing him down to the table, he tried to wrap his legs around Batman to get a modicum of comfort.

“What about removing the handcuffs?.. It will be more comfortable for you, and for me…”

“Shut up, Joker. Just shut up and fuck,” Batman snarled, lifting Joker’s hands and putting them behind his head, he settled between widely spread legs, and clutched the handcuffs so tightly, that Joker narrowed his eyes with pain, biting his scarlet lips to stop from screaming, from showing how fucking great he felt at that moment. When it hurt so much. When it was so pleasant to feel the touch, the friction of two cocks.

Joker was hard, and Batman felt that, when he kissed him for the first time, and they fought: one fought for the kiss, another fought for freedom from these brutal lips.

Blood surged to Batman’s head, making all sounds blend into perpetual booming of a distant hammer. He just pushed into Joker without pity, abruptly, caring only for his own desire to dull the pain, the hatred of himself for the weakness, for inability to kill this dirtbag. He wished for the only thing – not to think and analyze why he was incapable of doing so. He wished for everything that had happened to be a nightmare, a thick, dull, long, leaden dream, similar to reality, but just a dream. Where explosion was just a childish fear, where Joker was a clown, who tormented only him. He wanted Joker to shut up, stop screaming so loudly, so heatedly, stop gasping and melting under him so evidently with frantically trembling knees, stop wailing and sobbing, asking not to stop, never. And, hell, he was ready to never stop, if only it were a dream, just a nightmare after the night spent fighting against the clown.

“Son of a bitch, I hate you… I hate you… come on… help me…” Joker kept saying again and again. He wanted to get through to Bats, wanted to come faster, as soon as possible, because it was too good, too strange, unbearably awfully pleasant. He tried to come, moved in sync with Batman, but Batman kept taking his hands off Joker’s cock again and again. Touched him, started jerking off, but didn’t get the job done. “Fucking hell, Bats…”

Joker seized the moment, and threw his tightly handcuffed arms around Batman’s neck, pulling him down into a biting kiss, making Batman return to the reality.

“Let me come, you freaking bastard…”

“Shut your mouth and come,” Batman growled, squeezing his nuts in hot palms. And then he began jerking off for real, so that Joker whined, arching up and gasping for air, feeling short of breath.

Joker didn’t thrash under him anymore, he just pressed himself to Batman, keeping between them the smallest distance possible.

He came very quickly, shrinking into himself, and tightly squeezed Batman’s cock.

And Batman came completely undone, shook Joker’s relaxed arms off his neck, and pressed green head to the table. He fucked Joker viciously, without pity, ignoring Joker’s screams, whether caused by pleasure or pain. It did not matter.

When Batman came, heavy and stuffy silence fell upon him overwhelmingly, a moment later it was filled with the only new sound in the room…

Joker’s heavy breathing.

And his own breathing. Weary panting.

***

Joker lay under him and looked at the ceiling. He didn’t move. He didn’t smile. He didn’t say anything.

And Batman looked into his darkened serious blue eyes. At his serious face that was relaxed for the first time.

Batman didn’t know how much time had passed before he could move and find the strength to slip out of Joker, get up, wipe himself, and sit on the edge of the table. Before Joker could stir, turning over to his side and drawing up his legs. Before Batman could stand up, and Joker could somehow get up from the table, looking around for something to wipe himself off.

They both were silent. One of them was intently fastening the belt armor, checking and adjusting clasps to its perfect positions, the other was awkwardly pulling up trousers, standing aside. One of them was viciously rubbing his face, trying to wipe off traces of sticky lipstick, smeared on his lips and cheeks, the other was trying to wrestle down small shirt buttons.

Batman finished first and just stood sideways to Joker. He couldn’t look steadily at Joker, so he simply caught uncoordinated movements of the figure that inexplicably became small and almost unnoticeable in the dark room out of the corner of his eye. These actions resembled movements of a grotesque mechanical doll, which was breaking down.

He looked straight at Joker only one time, he looked attentively, searchingly, without expecting any response or unpredictable action. He just couldn’t ignore that, couldn’t turn away, when Joker in his long wrinkled suit coat with mercilessly crumpled tails unsuccessfully searched for his bow, until he found it in the shadow right under the inspection window. He picked the bow up, carefully smoothing it out, and began tying it, but his fingers didn’t obey him, and the bow kept coming undone.

When Joker finished at last, and looked at him, Batman turned away and took a step towards the door, but he stopped, hearing a strange tinkling sound. It was something unfamiliar, and Batman didn’t like it. Nothing sounded like that in Gotham’s prison.

He gestured to Joker to step aside, away from the door, but Joker was rooted to the spot. Then Batman stepped up to him, touched Joker’s shirt with his fingertips, pushing Joker behind his back, barely refraining from swearing at him. Why the hell was he so dense, there was something happening behind the door! And this something was definitely wrong and shady. Batman pushed him in the shoulder, forcing him to sit on the chair. One button on Joker’s shirt was undone, but Batman waved away the idea to tell him, there were other things to worry about.

When the door exploded, Batman almost howled with despair, realizing how stupid he was: he forgot to pick up his gun, and put it away so no one would never know that he had held this gun in his arms.

The last thing on his mind was that someone threw Batman, who incited fear and terror in Gotham’s criminals, away from Joker as a little kitten.

The last thing he committed to memory was upturned, self-assured and arrogant face of Joker, this expression was assumed in a split second, he looked at Superman without a trace of fear. He showed no seriousness, which astonished Batman so much. His face was like a nightly wild field, and a sneer hovered like a flickering illusive spark. Superman met playful eyes, trying to be brave when looking death in the face… not knowing that it was really the end. These eyes would never believe that it was possible to up and kill him. And Batman couldn’t even entertain the idea that Joker could be eliminated. It just didn’t work like that. Not for them. They always survived, both of them, and lived for the fights against each other, for something bigger than their fights for Gotham’s souls.

How could Batman think that at the very moment his Gotham – their Gotham – ceased to exist?

With one motion of the hand, Superman broke his chest and ripped Joker’s heart out.

And by doing so he ripped out one more heart along with it. Of another man in the room. Of a god. And of the whole Gotham.


End file.
